


amor omnia vincit

by anotherdirtycomputer



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Fenris Has Issues, Fenris-centric, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Hawke (Dragon Age), Other, Polyamory, but he's also healing, im nothing if not self-indulgent, kirkwall's favorite polycule, not with any of the relationships!, the audience for this is so small but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17455985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdirtycomputer/pseuds/anotherdirtycomputer
Summary: What Fenris loves most about each of his lovers, in order from easiest relationship to the hardest.





	amor omnia vincit

**Author's Note:**

> this has very minimal editing, because i've got writer's block out the whazoo and i really just wanted to post something... i'm happy enough with this to post it, despite the lack of polish i'd normally stop and give it, and i hope anyone reading it likes it, too!

Fenris’ favorite thing about Hawke is their resolve.

No matter what happens, no matter what mighty foe stands in their path, Hawke stares with blazing eyes and a steeled expression, readies their weapon, and leaps forth into battle.

Even when the foe cannot be fought - even when Hawke loses all they have, all they love, all they’ve ever known, they persist. Even when those bright and piercing eyes grow hollow and haunted, prone to staring sadly into the distance before Fenris can notice and press a kiss behind their ear, they fight. The always move forward. They always survive.

Tangled in the sheets next to Hawke, his head on their chest to feel their steady heartbeat, Fenris thinks that maybe he can move forward, too.

No matter what comes, they will fight it together. They will stand together until the end.

*

Fenris’ favorite thing about Isabela is her tongue.

Not for the reasons she’d believe, or pretend to believe, he imagines. No, Fenris’ favorite thing about Isabela is far less naughty than he’s sure anyone would guess, especially with the way they go on; he loves the way she speaks. The cadence, yes, and the accent, yes, and her beautiful voice, yes, but more than anything it is the way she crafts her words.

She speaks so often in truths that aren’t truths and lies that aren’t lies, tucking little pieces of herself away from prying eyes and yet hiding no part of who she is. She is wild like a hurricane and yet disciplined, a terrifyingly accomplished duelist. She is a deadly, selfish pirate queen, and yet she will take a blade for the freedom of another as readily as for herself and go out of her way to help those in need in what ways she is willing to. 

She is both the moons and the sea, waves and phases commanded only by herself and her whims. Violent and deep and bright and warm, she is impossible to pin upon the sand - unless, of course, you ask her, and then she will likely have a very good time of it. But even in that, she is entirely in control.

Maybe Fenris likes her tongue for that reason, too. Even if she weren’t disappointed, he’d be disappointed in himself to dismiss a part of her that’s just as integral to who she is as the badly-kept secret of her kindness.

Still. The masterful way she crafts her words, the way she teases and jokes and jabs and insults… She is funny, she is wild, she is loving, she is kind, she is violent, she is careful, she is reckless, she is a captain, she is an equal; all can be told by simply listening to all she says.

Sometimes, Fenris believes he could listen to her speak for the rest of his life.

He only hopes he is given the opportunity.

*

Fenris’ favorite thing about Merrill is her intellect.

For too long, he was cruel to her, believing her a naive, empty-headed fool. He thought she’d bring death upon them all and do it with an oblivious smile on her face.

He was the fool, to believe that as he did.

Merrill may not understand certain aspects of the cultures outside her own, and she may struggle on occasion to speak to others, but the more Fenris allowed himself to know her, the sharper she became. She’s a quick learner of history and language, resourceful in a fight or in the wild, and, despite the aforementioned belief of her naivety, she’s a shockingly quick wit.

Despite believing himself to be mostly well-humored, it’s still rare for Fenris to laugh. Most of the laughs he does give are almost wrenched from him in shock at some sudden, stone-faced joke Merrill will shoot, normally once everyone believes she’s tuned out the conversation.

Although she makes him laugh the most, it’s always with her that he most despairs. He realizes now that she is indeed not naive, she is only  _ prideful _ , believing herself to be strong where even mages ten times her ability were so incredibly weak. He pleads with her to find another way to fix the mirror, if she won’t leave the project behind her.

“I’ll help you,” he offers once. “I will do whatever it takes, for you to leave this danger behind you.”

When she declines, he shouts at her, demands she do what little she can now to separate herself from the demon that whispers in her mind.

Her lip trembles at his raised voice, at his cruel tone, and even as it tugs hard at his heart and nearly fells him just there, he doesn’t soften his glare. She has to know he’s serious, he thinks, as the Isabela in his head tells him to stop being a shit. She has to understand that losing her, whether to death or to the demon, is too much. He has seen what blood magic can do and she, with her pride, will not listen, even as both her men beg her into leaving it behind.

He wants to take her in his arms, apologize for his behavior, tell her he’s only afraid for her (or of her), but like her, he’s proud. Too proud.

This pride, this fear, will destroy him one day, he thinks, but Merrill’s will destroy her much faster, and it may yet destroy all those around her.

“If you care for me, for Hawke, for Isabela, for Anders, you will leave this behind. With everything you do, every time you contact this  _ demon _ with your foul blood-magic, you put us in danger.”

_ You put yourself in danger and I cannot bear the thought of ever losing you, not now that I have you. _

With a hard voice and a set jaw, she demands he leave. When he freezes, indignant, she repeats herself. “Get out. I can’t bear to look at you right now.”

It smarts to hear, although he’s earned it. So he does as she says - he storms out, stalking through the alienage even as the other elves around him fail to hide their watching him, whispering amongst themselves no doubt about the freakish man from Tevinter  _ rowing again _ with his equally strange Dalish girl.

They don't argue so often. More often that not, Merrill’s neighbors are privy to awkward hellos and goodbyes, shy kisses, and hugs that linger for too long from two people untrained in the art of being held so casually. Once, Fenris had brought her flowers, on account of her missing them, and she had wept right there in the street, apologizing over and over. Awkwardly, he had patted her shoulder, told her that  _ crying is okay _ , because it’s all he really knows about crying, and he’s not even sure he believes it while he’s doing it himself.

On days like this, though, there are no lingering touches or carefully picked flowers… It’s not so often that they argue, such gentle lovers as they are, but when they argue, it is always about this and it is always ugly.

Although his favorite thing about Merrill is her intelligence, he finds himself wishing sometimes, especially while stomping through Lowtown dejectedly, knowing he’s made an ass of himself, that she were just a little bit brighter.

*

Fenris’ favorite thing about Anders is… complicated. 

Their relationship is complicated - some would even argue unhealthy, though they work hard to be certain that isn’t true. They trade cruel-tongued barbs and vicious insults in ways that easily suggest to most that they must be enemies. It’s only natural, Fenris thinks sometimes, wry and wary. He and Anders are vastly different and vastly similar people.

But there are things they don’t bite about. There are things that are sacred between them that they can’t hurt the other about anymore.

Anders cannot call him a dog. He’s done it before, in a mocking tone so similar to Hadriana’s that Fenris had spit venom. He’d spun on his heel so quickly to growl back at Anders that he’d sprained his ankle and hurt his neck.

Now, after one careful, whispered discussion where they both sat tense and wary side-by-side, shoulders touching, Anders knows not to call him that.

And he knows not to call Anders an abomination.

It had struck him as strange at first, made his teeth clench and his nostrils flare. Was Anders trying to lie to himself about what he is? He  _ is _ an abomination, a mage possessed by a being more wrathful than kind, and that doesn’t appear to be changing anytime soon. But then Anders continued, explaining why. Explaining in a whisper so quiet only his elven ears, sitting so close go him, could hear, just what the Templars had made himself and the Circle mages view themselves as.

“Even before I joined with Justice, I was an abomination. They- They stuck me in solitary for a  _ year, _ Fenris, because I wanted to be free. Some of the others believed me dead. Some thought I’d have been better off if the Templars had killed me…”

Fenris stared. Waited.

“Well, I wasn’t well, as you’d imagine. A year of no company… A year where the only human interaction I was allowed was when whatever they’d decided to feed me that day was being shoved under the door. It wasn’t always food.” His head swung to the side, like he’d only just realized, his face quiet but haunted. “They did whatever they could to torment me. Banged on the door so I couldn’t sleep. Starved me or fed me awful things instead, just to make me sick.”

The memory of Hadriana flooded his mind and he tensed at the similarities. Anders didn’t deserve that. Even on his worst days.  _ No one  _ deserved that. Even cruel and violent men deserve only a swift death.

Anders continued on still.

“I think they wanted a demon to possess me, just so they could get away with killing me. All because being born with magic made me an  _ abomination _ .” Then his honey eyes grew a faintly blue tint. Not enough to frighten Fenris, but enough to remind him of Justice’s continuous presence. “I can’t allow them to do that to anyone else. I can’t allow mages to keep being tortured and tormented for what they’re born as. I can’t allow Templars to keep chaining us, violating us, brainwashing us into believing we’re nothing… I can’t allow anyone to ever-” He swallows then and looks away, eyes dimming and growing wet. “To ever meet Karl’s fate. Never again.”

Fenris kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to place a gentle hand over Anders’, a silent show of support. Anders closed his eyes, but didn’t pull away. They’d sat there, neither moving or speaking, just hurting together. Just… understanding.

Fenris doesn’t agree with all of Anders’ beliefs. He doesn’t agree with most of them, perhaps, on a bad day, any of then at all. But these beliefs are also his favorite thing about Anders.

It’s complicated.

So often, Fenris sees men who roll over and show their bellies. Fenris had been that man for a terribly long portion of his life. From the very beginning of his memories, he had obeyed. He had taken Danarius’ violence and Hadriana’s torment and any magister’s violation if Danarius so willed it. Some days, he had done it with pride.

Now, like Anders, he bares his teeth and fights. And though they both struggle to admit it on occasion, they know the other fights for the same reason, if not for the same cause.

_ Freedom _ .

Anders will never be held captive again. Fenris will never again be a slave. They understand each other, and on good days, this understanding manifests in soft spoken words and gentle, lingering kisses. They love each other deeply, wholly, passionately, and even when they hiss and hate and refuse to budge, those stolen moments of happiness linger between them.

Anders doesn’t call him a dog, not only because Fenris has asked him not to, but because he knows Fenris isn’t one. Because the idea of Fenris being treated like an animal and whipped like a dog fills him with a rage not unlike Fenris’ own. Because the idea of his lover being treated like any less than the man he is fills him with  _ hate _ .

And Fenris doesn’t call Anders an abomination. Perhaps it is true, in definition, but what Anders said sticks in Fenris’ mind. Fenris believes that the Circles are necessary - nothing as vile as they are now, he thinks after all these years of trying to heal, of  _ succeeding _ to heal, but he believes them necessary nonetheless. That doesn’t mean he wants to treat Anders in any way like those Templars did. That doesn’t mean he believes what happened to Anders was in any way a necessary precaution.

Torturing a man like that only rarely creates a gem like Anders. More often, it creates men who are cruel. Monsters like himself.

But Anders is kind. He heals others, for no gain beyond the knowledge that they are well, and he risks life and limb to free his fellow mages. Fenris doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t always disagree, either. The way Anders looks, speaking later about those he freed, his fists clenched and his eyes full of fire, both his own and the distant, Fade-touched glow of the spirit within him…

How could he not be loved? In what life does a man gaze upon such righteous heartbreak, tears shed at the fate of another, and not pledge himself to the man, if not the cause?

In what life could Fenris resist the allure of a man like Anders?

Yes, the fire behind his eyes is his favorite thing about Anders, perhaps even when that fire shines blue.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact for you, 'blue' can also mean, as you likely know, a feeling of sadness, but calling something blue can also be calling something pornographic or Naughty. >:3c so fenris is saying he loves anders all the time, no matter what. gods, i'm gay.
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading! comments and kudos are a writer's best friends!


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